


Sweet Taste of Control

by toesohnoes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock enjoys having John at his mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Taste of Control

Sherlock's hands spread over John's hips to hold him in place, pinned down against their shared mattress. It takes a liberal application of force to keep him where he is, but Sherlock is patient and his pale hands hide a strength of his own. Even with John bucking like a possessed man, Sherlock holds him in place, holding back a smile to himself at the sign of the power that he can hold over him. John is far easier to manipulate than he realises; his body is easily played, sweeter than a violin, and Sherlock has long since devised the quickest ways to get him into this state.

Naked. Desperate. Aching.

Sherlock takes the top of John's bare cock into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slide across the slide then further down the shaft. John makes a sound as if he has been shot, all of the air halting in his lungs. There's power in Sherlock's mouth, in his jaw and lips. He can make John his, like this.

There's a simple mechanics to it, and John is expressive enough that it is easy to tell when he hits the right balance, the perfect sucking and friction. John falls apart under the slickness of Sherlock's stretched lips, spread out across the mattress for him.

Once he has come, Sherlock plans on easing him open through the post-orgasmic haze, making him slick and ready for entry. They have all night ahead of them, and Sherlock will use every second. This is just the beginning.

Yet what a beginning it is, to be able to manipulate John like this. John's mouth is open and he pants uneasily as Sherlock swallows him down. Sherlock breathes through his nose and relaxes his throat as best he can, suppressing his natural gag reflex as he eases down as far as possible. John's length slides deep between his wet lips, down past the back of his throat. Sherlock's eyes water but he doesn't let up. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing, and John convulses as if hit with an electric shock.

Sherlock hums and pulls back, bobbing his head. His throat feels raw in a way not dissimilar to strangulation - which, he'll confess, he has more experience with. His enemies have a terrible habit of trying to choke him. The occasions on which he has chosen to fellate a partner are considerably rarer.

John's fingers slide into his hair, carding through curls with a gentle grace Sherlock would not have expected from him. He expects to find his hair pulled at, tugged on - and, truthfully, he's never been one to object to a bit of rough treatment - but even while he is trembling on the edge of oblivion John is nothing but a gentleman. He touches but does not break; wants but does not take.

Sherlock thinks that the small details like that might be enough to make him fall in love with this idiot of a man.

He brushes the thought away and focuses on the cock in his mouth. His tempo changes - harder and faster now, he's ready to drag John over the edge. John gasps his name, surprised and shattered, but Sherlock chooses not to respond. His hand shifts below John's cock, down to his balls and over to rub against the clench of his arse, thinking of what is to come. His jaw aches.

John's hand clenches in his hair unwillingly, almost no force at all even as he comes - there's barely a second of warning, just long enough for Sherlock to make a point by staying down, and then John spills down his throat, salty fluid in hot splatters. Sherlock closes his eyes and swallows as best he can, but when he pulls back there is saliva and semen spilt over his chin. His lips are red and swollen and his hair is an utter mess, and John is looking at him in nothing less than utter shock.

"Roll over," he instructs, his voice hoarser than it ought to be. The words hurt. "I'll get you ready while you recover."

John's response in a shapeless groan, but he does as he's told under Sherlock's steady hands - he's good like that, the perfect assistant, the ideal partner. Everything Sherlock has wanted.

And it's always polite to give a little back.  



End file.
